


Symbiosis

by halfpastmorrow



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:36:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpastmorrow/pseuds/halfpastmorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filch/Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symbiosis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Delphi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/gifts).



_When summer comes he can rest._

It is his mantra.

It is poetry, echoing in his head while he lurks in an alcove of the Great Hall, waiting for the students to arrive. And arrive they do, the older ones in a rag-tag herd, first years in a neat beeline. He strokes Mrs. Norris with a desultory air, watching the sorting. He has never been sorted. He has never sat at those tables, and there's no place for him at the Staff table. He doesn't belong to this world.

But he does belong to Hogwarts.

_When summer comes he can rest._

He feels the rhythm as he haunts her corridors at night looking for miscreants: students who swarm over her like some form of pestilence. In the darkness, he is more conscious of her presence and listens when she nudges him in the right direction.

A smile, horrible in its genuine pleasure, twists over his face when he catches them in some form of mischief. "Well. Well. What have we here?" he says as collars them with a hand to the back of their neck, or by an ear.

For punishment, he always steers them in Severus's direction. The other teachers, or Merlin forbid Dumbledore, can't be trusted, but he can rely upon Severus. Never let it be said that he doesn't know an ally when he sees one.

With October comes Quidditch and oceans of mud trekked across her floors by thoughtless hordes, students and teachers alike. The cleaning of it is an endless task; she is the only one who thanks him. But if he is lucky, there will be an unfortunate or two to torment while he does so.

It also brings Hallowe'en, a swag of tricks and practical jokes from those hopped up on the spirit of the holiday -- Peeves saves his worst excesses for this time of year -- and a wounded banister.

_When summer comes he can rest._

The thought thrums through his veins as he soothes a plane across the wound. Long slow strokes. Back and forth. Back and forth. He feels her pain, each creak and settle of her ancient bones an arthritic throb. And he feels her gratitude in the warmth of the weak winter sunlight that trickles over his shoulders.

At Yuletide, he watches them hang decorations, dressing her up until she looks like a cheap tart, instead of the grand old dame that she is. Sour-faced, he bides in silence, and takes them down at the first opportunity.

_When summer comes he can rest._

He aches for release as he wipes smudged fingerprints from the glass fronted trophy cabinets, and scours the lower levels after a mishap in first year potions.

The warmer months bring a fresh set of problems. The cold leads them to beds and silencing spells, he supposes, but summer brings the students out in the open, rutting all over her finery like the beasts they are, sometimes outside where she doesn't care, sometimes in where she does.

"Filthy brutes," he hisses, when he flushes them out of darkened corners, or from behind statutes, half-afraid to touch, images of fine young skin a drumbeat under his skin.

_When summer comes he can rest._

He tastes the promise of that knowledge, now that the school year is drawing to a close. He waits out the final hours in patrol, Mrs. Norris all seeing before them, Hogwarts whispering her secrets in his head. Together they will stave off the ravages of the out-going class. Just a few more hours, and then...

_...the summer will come and they can rest._


End file.
